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category:Classic OtherSpace Logs Rockhopper's Haven This cavernous chamber in the natural rock of the Ungstir planetoid appears to be some kind of converted mining operation facility, with large, rusty ore grinders, separation platforms and storage silos arrayed throughout. Automated ore-hauling bots - still functional despite age - whir and clunk overhead, following tracks set into the ceiling that weave around the antiquated mining equipment. Metal-seated stools border a semicircular bar counter which is about one hundred feet long from end to end. The bartender is usually clad in mining gear - complete with hardhat and overalls - and it doesn't always appear to be just for purposes of keeping in theme. The Rockhopper's Haven has a reputation as a rough spot among rough spots, with fisticuffs and gunfights erupting on a fairly regular basis - thus keeping the civilian constabulary on their toes (when they aren't actually involved in the fights themselves). Softpaw practically glides into the room, eyes narrowing in the dimly lit tavern. After a moment's pause, she chooses a table near the center of the room and takes a seat, clearly uneasy at the thought of her blue lace coming into contact with the chair. Teel glares back into the back. "Oh, blazin craters. Her again? Sha, toss th'hoopin hottie out on'er butt!" She sighs, then looks back to Volanta. "Strange Sivvy unnerage gal. Snuck in t'get booze an action. Sad." She looks over and cheerfully waves at Vechkov, then yells to Softpaw, "Welcome t'Rockhopper's! What can I getcha?" Vechkov limps into the tavern, ribbons of cigarette smoke trailing around his head and under the brim of his battered fedora as he stops a few feet in from the door, glancing around through eyes hooded in shadow. Squat, a fireplug of a humanoid, he grunts against the chill, stubble darkening his cheeks and chins. Looks like a fairly bitter middle-aged man. And then come the thumping scritches of a rather large-ish dog with hair like silvery brillo pads, who stops obediently at the fedora'd mans heel. Remus steps in behind Vechkov, whiping a runny nose on his sleeve in a dignified manner as his dark eyes sweep the light interior. For whatever reason, the Demarian female looks surprised that someone would actually acknowledge her. She sputters an uncomfortable response, then looks around at some of the nearby tables before settling. She points. ""I'll have one of the red ones,'' she says with a breathy, self-effacing laugh. A loud shrill squawking shriek comes from the back room of the tavern, and the air suddenly erupts into a flurry of arms, legs, and red hair which lands with a *THUMP* squarely onto the floor. A very scantily dressed young girl sprawls with an outraged expression on her heavily made-up face, what passes for a short skirt flipped up to reveal half tugged-down black stockings. A flying red high-heeled stiletto shoe brains her on the nogging, eliciting a yelp and a howl of pain. "OY BITCH!" she yowls just as a grim-faced, skillet-wielding Sha strides out of the backroom. Vechkov narrows his eyes, watching the Demarian for a moment. Then, the hairs lifting on the back of his neck, he glances down first at the dog - who looks up at him with soulful brown eyes, and wags his tail, tongue lolling - and then his eyes settle on the Mystic youth. He nods. Volanta suppresses a little cough after he finishes his sip. The Light Singer takes a moment, then reaches up to rub his eyes slowly. He then shifts his attention to the door for a moment. His drink is left alone for the moment. Remus sniffs in the putrid air, his piercing gaze settling on the older man for a moment before returning the nod. "Hewwo, siw," he says, his even voice tinged by mucus buildup. "Id has been awhiwe." Teel turns her head around to see which bottle the Demarian has chosen. "Okay. Red one, comin up!" She pays no attention to Sha's bouncing as she prepares the order, but she does say, "This is a bar. T'ain't a fam'ly establishment. No kids." Her gaze settles directly on Remus. Vechkov drags on the cigarette poking from his mouth until the tip glows red. Exhaling smoke, he nods curtly. "You should be sleeping it off, kid." The dog just wags and grins in dog-like fashion, naturally agreeing with everything his master imparts. Wide-eyed, the Demarian female seems to take note of all the goings-on with a healthy helping of both awe and unpainted glee. Remus shakes his head, "Id's de air. Polludands." He either ignores or isn't close enough to catch what Teel is carrying on about. Vechkov shrugs, taking another drag from the cigarette and exhaling smokily. "Smells fresh as ever," he opines, then limps away toward the tables. The dog sits for a moment, gazing unabashedly up at Remus, as if waiting for the Mystic youth to share in his exuberance for what Vechkov had to say, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Teel steps from behind the bar and brings the drink over to the Demarian. "Here y'are, enjoy." She flashes a cheerful smile, then makes her way back to the bar. "Vech, this a bizness visit? Tell me yer order," she says, as she passes the man and dog. Vechkov smiles with the wrinkles around his eyes. "Whiskey. Meeting someone. Sorry about SBI - too rich for our blood." The dog, realizing that Remus isn't going to sign up for the Vechkov Prague Worship League anytime soon, decides to pad off after his master. "Dad's de problem," Remus replies to Vech, sniffling. For less than a second, a look of disapproval crosses the young Demarian female's face as she is handed the glass. She looks as if she is about to speak, but by then, the barmaid is gone. Instead, she sips from the glass. Vechkov limps over toward Softpaw's table and takes the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling trails of smoke that waft up and under the brim of his fedora, then loop up toward the ceiling after coasting along the surface of the felt brim. The dog pads up to his side, sits on his haunches and wags. The Ungstiri in the fedora nods to the Demarian. "Softpaw, right?" Volanta gets the courage to take another drink. He fares better this time, managing only a slight grimace. Little flickerings of yellow appear in the air around the Light Singer for a moment, then fade back to nothingness. While she doesn't *quite* recoil when he sits, Softpaw is careful to move her lovely, dainty silk slippers away from the dirty black boots Vechkov puts under the table. "I am. And you are..." The newly ejected occupant of the back room rubs her head and wobbles to her feet unsteadily, glaring in rather cock-eyed fashion around the room to try and locate her persecutor. From the way she's swaying around, it seems rather clear she's imbibed a bit too much to drink. She gets a helping hand as Sha grabs her by the wrist and starts dragging her towards the door, no ifs, ands, or buts. "Y'stay outta here, y'rumbunctious top-heavy swill-slattern of a shake-chest boom-boom mama, or I'll /give/ y'boom boom when I ram Shiva up th'painful end of yer arse, y'hear me?" A brief glance around and she catches sight of Vechkov in her peripheral vision. Immediately a grin breaks over her face and she yells, "Gotta take care of business first Vech, be right wit'ya!" And continues dragging the protesting, yowling girl off towards the door with single-minded purpose. Vechkov tucks the cigarette back into his mouth, smiling with the wrinkles around his eyes as he lifts his chins enough to almost make them disappear, allowing the weak light of the tavern to penetrate the shadows beneath the brim of his hat. "Vechkov Prague. I'm the guy who made the mistake of leaving the room when the reconstruction committee wanted to name an overseer." Teel gets that whiskey for Vechkov with great speed, returning to Softpaw's table with a full tumbler and a bottle of the drink for him. "Win some, lose some, Vech. Oh well." She sets the drink and bottle down, then asks the Demarian, "How's th'drink?" Softpaw nods graciously. "It's certainly a lovely shade of red." Vechkov lifts an eyebrow. "A diplomat." He drags the tumbler toward himself, then grabs up the whiskey bottle, twisting the cap off and pouring. Softpaw gestures vaguely. "So you are in charge of this, er, this entire place?" Vechkov allows himself a slight smirk, looking around. "Oh, yeah. What's left of it." Teel chuckles. "Good," she comments, though about what is up to those who hear it. She is about to head back to the bar, when she notices Remus again. "Kid." Sighing, she walks over to the young Mystic. Aim, chuck, and watch landing with inherent satisfaction. Which is what Sha does as soon as she's gotten her protesting quarry to the door - yank, heave, and shove, and the jiggly-bosomed, scantily clad intruder is summarily cast forth. Brushing her hand off against her leggings and looking obscenely satisfied, Sha waits for a few moments before returning to the bar nonchalantly as if this were a normal every day occurence. And perhaps it is. Upon arriving, she clangs the skillet onto the bartop. "Bloody good job Hua gave this t'me fer a birt'day present," she observes with sardonic gratitude. "Llo Litebrite type dude." This is sent in Volanta's direction, before she plants both hands on the counter and casts a glance towards first Softpaw, and then Vechkov. "Llo Miss. An' Vech, y'been away too long. Where's Chester?" Hearing his name, the dog, currently curled beneath the table where Vechkov and Softpaw are sitting lifts his head and wags appreciatively at Sha. Remus makes his way through the bar towards the counter, skirting around the largish groups surrounding the demarian. He glances up as Teel adresses him, piercing dark eyes meeting hers for a moment before he nods in recognition. "Ms. Nels-McGraw," he says, sniffling. Volanta nods back to Sha slowly but seems otherwise preoccupied. The Vollistan sips his drink again, managing to avoid much of a reaction this time. Softpaw nods politely, as if she had the gesture down to an art form. "Still, it is most impressive, Mr. Prague. I am afraid, however, that your 'informants', (she looks around after she says the word, almost as if she surprised herself by saying it aloud) were wrong about me. I see no way I could be of any help to you." Both her volume and her pitch lower. "Gleaming Star is really quite parochial." Vechkov shrugs, taking the cigarette from his mouth and tapping ash under the table. He nods to Sha. "Evenin'." The dog, rather perturbed by the warm gray flakes fluttering down, makes a little grumbling noise and scrambles out and around, settling with a huff behind Vechkov's chair. The Ungstiri tugs on the brim of his fedora, tucks the cigarette back into his mouth and says, "Not just Gleaming Star. Look, one thing that comes in short supply on this rock is information from the core worlds. I assume you have access to not just Gleaming Star, but New Alhira and Sanctuary, as well. I need to keep plugged in so we can spot concerns that might be of interest to Ungstir." Teel rests her ice blue eyes upon Remus. "Kid," she says. With sympathy, she says, "I can't let y'in here, kid. Yer unnerage. Sides, souns like y'need t'get some rest there." N'Sha-El stows the skillet away under the counter briskly and turns to retrieve a rag from a hook hanging near the small sink. Tucking this into the waistband of her leggings, she trots her way out from behind the bar, pushing open the low batwing swinging door that separates the bartender's territory from the rest of the Rockhopper's. "Hey Chester, c'mon over boy," she coaxes with a grin, her voice at odds with the harshness she'd used on the ex-interloper. "It's only ashes y'know?" A glance over at Teel is all she needs - the Ungstiri woman appears to have the situation well under control. Softpaw lowers her voice further, all too aware now of how small Ungstir, and this bar in particular, really are. "Forgive me, but I hardly think I associate with the," she pauses, grasping for an acceptable term, "With the 'types' of people that might interest someone like you." Vechkov chuckles softly. "I'm sure that only depends on the paycheck, yeah?" The dog, hearing someone showing an interest in him .oO(Perhaps she has FOOD!), gets to all fours and pads off toward the bar. In an unconscious gesture, the Demarian female's ears flick at the mention of a paycheck. She says, in her well cultured voice, "Go on." "I'm nod sick," Remus says flatly, "Id's de air." His brow furrows, his youthful features setting with a determined expression. "I wanded to find oud where de lasd sdand wad made." Vechkov tugs on the brim of his hat, then drags on the cigarette again till the tip glows red. Removing the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a plume toward the ceiling, he returns his attention to Softpaw. "Five hundred rubles a week as a retainer. Bonuses for particularly useful information. Sound fair?" Softpaw coughs explosively and waves a well-manicured hand to clear the cigarette smoke. "Will I be required to travel? Or does this include only the social engagements already on my calendar?" Vechkov drops the remnants of his expended cigarette on the floor, crushing them under a boot. Then, after taking a sip of his whiskey, he says, "Some travel may be necessary. Depends on what you learn." Once Chester is within scritching distance, Sha squats down on her haunches and proceeds to do just that behind his bristle-furred ears. "Y'eaten t'day or haven't you?" she enquires of the canine quite solemnly as she runs her other hand down his ribs. "Y'got some extra padding here boy," she notes critically, another crooked grin tip-tilting her lips as she flashes Vech an extremely bland glance. Her eyes however are mischievious all the way. Softpaw is given a rather intent scrutiny at the same time. Softpaw narrows her eyes shrewdly. "If that becomes the case, then renegotiation will be required." Vechkov smirks faintly. "Fair enough." Chester wags his tail and lolls his tongue. Clearly, if he has eaten today, he does not believe it was enough to equate to contentment. Softpaw raises a daintily embroidered handkerchief to her mouth, then nods. "Then we are agreed." Teel sighs. "You must have allergies or somthin, kid. Ain't nothin wrong with th'air." She lifts a brow. "Las'stand?" She pales, more than she already is. "Y'mean th'Nalls?" Vechkov nods, taking out a small credicomp from his trenchcoat and tapping a sequence on it. Vechkov gives Softpaw 500 Rubles. Volanta eyes the dog for a moment, a frown forming over his thin lips. After a moment of watching the dog, Volanta takes another sip of his drink, then shakes his head slowly. Remus nods solemnly to Teel, supressing a sniffle. A soft chuckle escapes Sha as she stretches languidly before rolling herself up to standing position, one vertebrae at a time. "A'right, c'mon then. Saved you a nice big lamb bone." As she places her hands to the small of her spine and arches backwards, she catches Teel's reaction to Remus in her peripheral vision. A sharp frown furrows her forehead. "Y'ok lil' sis?" she asks brusquely, squaring her shoulders barely perceptibly. "An' what th'hell y'askin' bout that for, kid?" Her voice is sharp. Still clutching tightly to the small handkerchief, Softpaw stands. "Very well, Mr. Prague, I will look forward to your next communication. If you will excuse me, I must be off as I have another engagement." At this last comment, the young woman's left eyebrow arcs as if to impart some meaning. Vechkov knits his brow, but nods slowly. Softpaw produces a small purse from the folds in her skirt and leaves a few coins on the table. Softpaw gives Teel 20 Rubles. Softpaw nods and walks rather quickly to the door. Remus's dark gaze turns towards N'Sha-el, pressing one of his hands against a small bulge under his shirt. There's a soft crinkle, perhaps like a paper envelope. "Dere are dose whode padding I mud honor." Vechkov finishes off his whiskey, then stands, sighing and shaking his head. He takes a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his coat, then fumbles in the pocket for the scuffed silver lighter. He tucks the cigarette in his mouth, cups one hand around it while lighting it. Snap - the lighter clicks shut, and is then slid back into the pocket. He drags on the cigarette till the tip glows red and watches the Demarian go. He mutters - not quite under his breath: "She's going to get herself killed." Teel nods slowly to Remus, white as a sheet, pale as a ghost. "You talked t'Newt, dincha?" She looks over at Vechkov. "Vech, where was th'final stand 'gainst th'Nalls zatcly? Th'kid here needs to honor th'dead." Vechkov narrows his eyes, glancing toward Teel and the kid. He then shrugs, pointing to the door. "Right out there. You can still see the claw marks left by the Nall." Remus shakes his head. "I habbend been able to condacd Newd." Volanta glances over his shoulder for a moment, blankly observing both the door and the conversation at the same. A hand reaches up to rub his temple, sending a very dim reddish pulse through the air around him. N'Sha-El's face is stony as she watches Remus before her glance turns to Teel. "Tell me 'bout it later," she notes, her voiec dead neutral. To Vech, even as her strides turn into a stalk towards the bar, "Y'gonna have t'tell me bout /that/ too later, Vech. I been in seclusion for a bit." There's an unusual hardness to the way she bites off those words, and her right hand bunches up into a fist momentarily before relaxing itself. Vechkov lifts his eyebrows, but nods to Sha. "You wanna watch after Chester for a while. He gets tired of bein' cooped up in the old castle with me. I used to play fetch with him, but he lost the ball in the dungeon. Of course, that's how we found Boromov's oubliette, with about ten foot deep of bones..." Teel grunts. "Thanks Vech." To Sha, she yells, "Sha, watch th'shop fer a minute. Me an th'kid got somthin t'do." Then back to Remus. "Well, lead on, kid." She opens the door for him, with every intention of following. N'Sha-El spins around, startling Chester into a protesting whimper. "Take yer time lil' sis," she calls back with a faintest hint of a smile before she glances at Vechkov. "Shor thang if he don't mind m'cats. Oubliette? Tell me." Her expression is as bland as her tone now as she heaves a deep breath and deliberately relaxes her tense shoulders. Remus nods, sniffling in a solemn fashion. He turns, after his eyes sweep past Sha to Vech, walking out the door being proffered open. Vechkov shrugs. "Not too pleasant. Lots of dead people dumped in a pit in the basement. Some kids. Not sure what the whole story is yet." He grimaces, shaking his head. "Those Boromov computers in the castle might have some data on what went on, but I haven't got a clue what any of it means - you know how I am with techie crap." N'Sha-El narrows her eyes a little. "Wanna lemme have a crack at it?" A twitch of her lips as she cocks her head and watches the fireplug of a man for a long while. A slow exhale before she notes, in a more conciliatory tone with a hint of apology, "Sorry. Talkin' bout dead people puts me on edge now'days." Another pause before she says, very bluntly, "Y'know what happened t'th'Sivad dude I was goin' round with right?" Vechkov twitches the wrinkles around his eyes. "Isherwood? Yeah. I heard." N'Sha-El spins on her heel abruptly and pushes her way through the swinging door of the bar again. "Y'din't hear th'full story. They wouldn'ta printed it anyhows - fam'ly wouldn't want that leaking out." There's a small fridge there, which she opens, bending to rummage around. Chester, who's followed her, wags his tail happily, lolling his tongue. "I'll give y'th'inside scoop, but y'gotta promise not t'tell. M'kay?" Vechkov nods to Sha. "Sure." He plunges his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "If you want. I know how it is, if you don't." N'Sha-El straightens up, holding in one hand an impressive wrapped specimen that must be the bone she was talking about earlier. Undoing the brown paper that's been rolled around it, she states, with deceptive ease, "They pulled the plug on 'im, is what th'news said. What they didn't say, an' wouldn't say, is who did it." True enough, there's a large bone under all that wrapping, which she bends to hand to Chester so her face is momentarily masked. When she straightens up again, her glance meets Vech's, defiant as her slightly uptilted chin. Vechkov lifts an eyebrow in response to the unspoken statement. He nods. "Not an easy thing," is all he finally says. Sip, twitch, mutter. Volanta finally pushes his drink across the bar, not even half finished. He glances to his watch, then takes a moment to loosen his neck, rolling his head slowly. "Eh, some thangs in life, they gotta be done." Flippant enough a statement as Sha turns to wash her hands off. Drying them on her leggings, she rests her hands on the ledge for a moment before turning around again and stepping up to the counter proper, now watching Vechkov's expression. "Want me t'take a look at yer computer problem?" Jasra slips into the tavern with a little smile on her face, scanning the room as she makes her way to the bar. She finds an empty place at the counter and sits down. Vechkov smiles with the wrinkles around his eyes. "Maybe tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. Keep Chester amused. He needs it." He watches the barkeep for a moment longer, nods, then tugs on the brim of his fedora. "I'll get you on the payroll to investigate this problem." He chuckles softly, then turns and limp-walks toward the door, cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he goes. Volanta's attention doesn't have much else to focus on, so Jasra becomes an easy target. "Good morning." He greets simply, reaching out for his drink that isn't there. His hand simply closes into a fist and withdraws. "Pay? Woohoo!" Sha gives a little grin as she waves at Vechkov's departing back. "Anythin' I need t'know special about Chester an' stuff b'fore you vamoose yer arse off?" She rubs her hand over her spiky platinum-tipped hair. Jasra glances at Volanta, "Morning, Glowing One." she smiles at him, then looks for a bartender as she says, "I see you made it here after all." "Would've been here sooner, but Quicksilver grabbed my attention. He wanted me to listen to all the freaks talk about the Lem'ings." Volanta says dismissively towards Jasra. "According to them, Sanctuary is fucked. I think I'll spend the night here... and start looking for a job." Vechkov glances back toward Sha, a slight smile quirking his lips. "Scratch him under the right front leg and it makes his left leg thump in time with 'The Lullaby of Broadway.'" He winks, then heads out.